


The Queen's Dogs

by orphan_account



Category: Avengers, MCU, Marvel, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:05:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. </p>
<p>It's year 1887 in London, where Steven Grant Rogers has moved to work as a police officer. He attends a party held for the city's police forces at the Crystal Palace, where fate decides to throw a beautiful man in distress into his arms. And they call that man the Queen's dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So!!! This fic... I've always wanted to write something about mysterious things happening in the foggy streets of London, and since Steve and Bucky need to be together in all possible universes, they shall be so in this one as well. :D

1887

The streets of London had never really appealed to Steve. Not that he didn't love the city, for he did, but the fog and the smoke hanging low between the buildings always managed to wake his inner claustrophobic. It felt like the sky had disappeared, a low ceiling of swirling smoke replacing the crystal blue Steve had grown used to back in America. The wind howled in every street corner, stealing people's hats and scarves and spreading the strong odors of the filthy sewers all around. Steve had grown rather tired of the constant rain and cold, and the ocean of black umbrellas greeting him on the streets with faceless bodies huddled underneath. Everything seemed so dark, so surreal, the sunlight weak and bleary through the thick clouds of coal coming from the numerous factories surrounding Steve's neighborhood. Everything was wrapped in black and grey. Yet still, the city managed to keep its hold of him, surprising him with charming little boutiques or a friendly face every now and then, when he felt a little more down than usually. And sometimes, though extremely rarely, as if the universe didn't want Steve to get too used to it, something terribly exciting happened, swiping Steve's mind along like a lonely leaf during an autumn storm. 

******

It was in a party held for the city's police officers, located in the magnificent Crystal Palace, where the universe finally decided to pull the dark veil from Steve's eyes and show him that indeed, no matter where you were, the world remained mysterious and incredibly beautiful, offering a mere human the chance to change. Steve was standing at the side, clad in his uniform, a small smile playing on his lips as he observed his friends. His cap was placed firmly under his arm, his golden hair brushed back in a carefree yet charming manner. He had completely missed the meaning of the celebration, but he had to admit that it was a nice change to the usual evening. 

The Palace was not entirely for their use, merely the southern wing, but it too was glorious enough. The glass walls rose high on each side, chandeliers dripping from the high ceilings--cut glass, not crystal, but it shed a pretty light--and some exotic plants from the latest exhibition. Food was being served around by waiters clad in snow white aprons and navy blue vests, and the orchestra played silently from behind a row of chinese screens. A low chatter and occasional bursts of laughter filled the air. 

Steve held back a sigh as he looked around for a calmer corner. He didn't enjoy being the center of attention, but he was bound to be noticed like this, standing all by himself in the middle of a chattering crowd, possibly looking like he had swallowed a pole. He just couldn't help it--he was shy, and small talk was not his forte. He always managed to make a fool of himself in situations involving large amounts of strangers. He took a step to the side, intending to slide away from the group and walk a little further away, when something hit his back with enough force to send him stumbling forward. 

Steve bit back a curse, feeling the heat immediately spread to his face from under his collar, and turned around to face his offender. It became clear quite soon that the impact had not been intentional. 

The man responsible for the collision stood with uncertain feet an arm's length from Steve, his face flushed with something other than embarrassment. The strong feeling of having met the man before hit Steve like a hammer, making his heart pound, even though he knew he couldn't have seen this person before. 

He could never forget a face like that. 

The man's face was one of the most beautiful faces Steve had ever seen. He couldn't even bother to feel odd at thinking of another man as beautiful, because the familiarity and the pure perfection had pushed all his rationality to the side. The stranger's skin was smooth and so pale it was like there was a faint light shining behind it, and his face was so finely cut it cast the pompous decorativeness of the Palace to shame. The lines of his cheekbones, his jaw, and his throat--generously exposed by the open collar of his shirt--were so prominent he could've been a statue if it weren't for the dark flush on his cheeks. His hair, charcoal black, had probably been brushed back very neatly when the night had begun, but now it was disheveled, curling ever so slightly. 

The man's eyes found Steve's, a pair of hard sapphires drilling into his head with surprising intensity. Yet from the red surrounding the stranger's eyes Steve was able to draw the conclusion that this man was terribly drunk. He took a step forward, thinking of offering to support the man or to walk him to the tables placed a little further away, when someone from behind him spoke. 

"If it isn't Mr. Barnes, the Queen's loyal dog." The voice was dripping sarcasm and poorly hidden loathing, and it made Steve's skin crawl. The beautiful man in front of him let his gaze slide away from Steve's face and land somewhere behind his shoulder, a spark of anger glimmering behind the blue irises. 

"Cut it out, Gallagher. We aren't children anymore." Mr. Barnes managed to sound stone-cold sober, even if he was swaying on his feet. Steve resisted the urge to groan. He knew Gallagher, even if he wished he didn't. 

"Are we not?" Gallagher asked. "Well then I cannot understand why you saw it fit to get drunk in a fancy party like this. But then again, I would imagine the Queen would look the other way if her little lord took a swig or two. Haven't you been her puppy since school?" Steve could hear a few more voices join the snickering behind his back. He wanted to turn and defend Barnes, but he was glued to the spot, only able to observe the changing expressions on Barnes' face. 

"Since cradle, actually." Barnes said thoughtfully. "And this, a fancy party?" He guffawed. "Maybe between this and your mother-in-law's Christmas dinners, this counts as a 'fancy party'." 

Steve laughed before he could stop himself, and Barnes' eyes turned to him again, slightly wider than before, as if only now noticing he was there. Confusion flashed across his face, and Steve felt his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, and prayed no one else had heard him. 

His prayers were fruitless. 

"Rogers?" Gallagher spoke again, and Steve steeled his nerves. "Do you know Mr. Barnes from somewhere?" 

Barnes hadn't yet moved his eyes away from Steve's, not allowing a hint of emotion show on his face as he studied the other, clearly calculating something. Before Steve could turn and stammer that no, he didn't, and that he wanted no part in the arguments between them, Barnes spoke again, his hand shooting out and grabbing Steve's arm. 

"Yes," he announced, a small, mischievous smile lighting up his face. "Rogers is my guard. He's got my leash. After all, a royal dog needs someone to walk and look after him when Her Majesty is not available, don't you think?" He winked at Steve, who was certain his face would soon be in flames. The part of his arm Barnes was touching tingled comfortably, sending electric shocks straight towards his heart. 

"I-" he tried, but Gallagher didn't care about him at the moment. He was staring at Barnes with blind rage. 

"How can you even call yourself a nobleman?" He hissed, and Steve stepped instinctively between the two. The situation started to clear up to him--there were a dozen furious officers staring at him and Barnes, and even if they would never lay a finger on the Queen's friends, Barnes was terribly vulnerable, standing there all alone, his eyes bright and cheeks red, a stray curl falling over his forehead. Steve felt it to be his duty to protect him if he just could, because wasn't that what police officers did? 

Gallagher turned back to him as Barnes refused to give a response to his question. Steve stared back calmly, knowing that if it came to it, he'd be able to take down each officer in the Palace, with Barnes unscratched. 

"So." Gallagher said, crossing his arms. "You walk this dog?" 

"Woof." Barnes barked from behind Steve's back, before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

"There are no dogs here." Steve said sternly. "Just us, and the last I saw, dogs looked nothing like Mr. Barnes. I would think a police officer and a gentleman would know better than to start an argument with a person that is clearly drunk." He frowned, and the officers around Gallagher lowered their eyes, shifting their weight. 

"Hey!" Barnes mumbled from behind him, poking his finger between Steve's shoulder blades. 

"You really don't know much, if you think that filth can be called human." Gallagher said contemptuously. "Must be because you are not from here." He turned on his heels and strode away, the group that had gathered to watch the scene quickly dissolving at his tail. Steve watched them retreat to the tables before turning back to the man who had now become his protege, if only for the night.

Barnes was still swaying on his feet, but there was a hard look in his eyes as he returned Steve's glare. He was standing so close Steve could smell the alcohol and the cigarettes, the smoke clinging to the other man's jacket. 

"Why does Gallagher hate you so much, Mr. Barnes?" Steve asked, instinctively grabbing Barnes' arm and walking him towards the exit in hopes of some fresh air and privacy. Barnes followed without struggle, the set of his shoulders giving away the rising nausea he felt. 

"That's a longer story than either of us has time for." He said bitterly, allowing Steve to lead him down the front stairs and towards the more peaceful parts of Hyde Park. "He was right though, on one thing. Never tell him I granted him that." He glanced at Steve. 

"I'd never approach him if I could choose, you have my word." Steve smiled softly, and Barnes guffawed again. "What was he right about?" 

"That I definitely shouldn't have drank." Barnes said, suddenly miserable. He pulled his arm out of Steve's grasp and fell dramatically on the grass, leaning his back against a tree and drawing his knees up to his chest. He looked like a small child, and Steve felt pity towards him. 

"Sit." Barnes said, and Steve obliged. How could he not, Barnes was a nobleman and he was a mere police officer, granted Barnes was drunk and probably more than a little dizzy. Still, an order from a person of higher rank was an order.

"I have work tomorrow," Barnes sighed. His eyes were like two blue flames in the twilight. "Her Majesty won't be delighted if I can't do what she expects me to do." 

"So you really do work for her?" Steve asked, trying to remember whether Barnes was an Earl or a Count. Either way, his rank was high enough for him to be in direct contact with the Queen. 

"I do." Barnes smiled. "Hence the nickname 'Queen's dog'. Don't think Gallagher's the first one to say that to me. And he won't be the last." He scoffed, ripping up some grass. "I'm a failure. The only reason I showed up in that stupid party was because she asked me to. I was supposed to chat around and use my charms to find an officer who could work for me. You know, give me information of what really goes on in the police forces. She wishes to know, and what she tells me to do, I do. No questions asked. But I went and got myself drunk and into a fight. There's no way I can sneak back in and remain nameless anymore." He huffed, visibly annoyed with himself. 

Steve frowned. "Why would she want information of the police forces? Can't she just ask?" 

"Well, I think she suspects something fishy is going on." Barnes giggled. "But that is not for me to say, I simply follow orders and do the dirty work." 

"She suspects something like that?" Steve snapped, and Barnes flinched, making Steve regret his tone immediately. "Sorry, I-"

"If she does," Barnes interrupted, not seeming to care, "Trust me when I say she has a reason. She has other work for me, much more important, yet she made me do this. I'm willing to bet that whatever her reasons, they hold. Yet I failed her. So here we are." He laughed. "Maybe I could run from the country. How do you think Paris is this time of a year?" 

"Or then I could be your source of information." Steve said hastily. He didn't even know why--he shouldn't care whether or not Barnes fled the country or went back to the party to find someone for his purposes. Yet he did. Barnes's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he took in, seemingly for the first time, Steve's police uniform. 

"You... How did I not notice?" Barnes muttered to himself, looking shocked. "Wow. I need to lay down the wine for a while." A roguish grin spread onto his face, and he leaned closer. "Would you do it? Would you spy your friends for me?" 

Steve swallowed. He hadn't exactly thought it through before speaking. Was he truly prepared to spy on his friends and coworkers? Could he handle what would come up after practically idolizing the profession for years? And what would happen if he did reveal whatever it was the Queen was suspecting? He would not have a job afterwards, and he'd be looked down on by the society for ever having been a police officer if the filth discovered made the news. Steve frowned, settling on saying no, but then he looked back at Barnes. 

It was impossible to ignore the excitement in the other man's eyes. Barnes was nearly vibrating with expectation, knowing he'd be punished if Steve said no. And the universe had been kind enough to push a beautiful man in distress straight at Steve, literally. He couldn't say no. 

"Yes." He breathed out before he could convince himself otherwise, and the smile he received was worth it, even if it was just for the moment. Barnes' face lit up, a soft, gentle glimmer sparking in his eyes.

"I thank you --?" He tilted his head, and Steve understood that they had never introduced themselves to each other. He held out a hand. 

"Steven Grant Rogers." 

Barnes took his hand. "James Buchanan Barnes. And as I was saying, I thank you, Steven Grant Rogers, for what you have agreed to do, granted it is your duty in the service of Her Majesty. " he laughed, grabbing Steve's shoulder for support and stumbling up. 

"Mr. Barnes--"

"James." Barnes said airily. "Just call me James. I'm not a mister and I'm not so high on my pedestal that you'd have to call me an Earl either." 

"James." Steve tried the name. He liked it. "Do you need me to escort you back to your house? I'd imagine you have a place to stay in London." 

"I do, but no, Steven." James' eyes drooped. "I have a carriage waiting, and you have a long day tomorrow." 

"I have nothing tomorrow," Steve said with a small frown. 

"Yes you do." James smiled, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small card with an address written on it. "Come to this address tomorrow at noon. I live there. We need to agree on a few things and discuss your new job. Also, if you change your mind about this overnight, I need to know tomorrow." He winked, turning around and starting to walk back towards the Palace, the hem of his long jacket dancing behind him in the soft breeze. 

"Good night, Steven!" He shouted with a wave, but didn't turn around, and soon enough the darkness swallowed him, as if he had never been there. 

Steve looked at the card, something fluttering inside his chest. 

"Good night, James," he said.


	2. Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve doesn't believe in umbrellas, James is tired and Sam likes giving Steve advice.

The next morning shed no light on the dusty streets of London, the ominous silence and the absence of wind promising a great storm. The man dressed in dirt-spotted farmer's attire, responsible of lighting the street lamps on Steve's street, had not bothered to turn them off for the day, seeing as the heavy clouds kept the shadows long and deep, creating a mysterious darkness upon the city. The world seemed to have stopped entirely. 

Steve woke early, having been too nervous to sleep for more than an hour or so. His senses were working overtime, the smallest creak of the neighbor's floorboards making him flinch. The previous night felt like a dream, the way Hyde Park had bathed in a strange, blue light, like an ocean with the Crystal Palace as a luminated ship in the middle of the waves. He remembered the way James' eyes had sparkled like two stars under the heavy shadow of the tree, and how he had not swayed at all upon leaving Steve with the small address card. The events felt unreal, and Steve would've filed them away as a dream or him being drunk if it weren't for the card on his night table. 

Steve wasn't sure if he wanted to go meet James, not under the circumstances he was supposed to. He definitely did want to see the man again, the thought of his face and smile enough to make his head spin, but he had thought about his promise a lot after he had gotten home from the park. He felt empty and terrified of the mess he had gotten himself into--on the other hand, there was the Queen, the one he was supposed to serve, and James, the one he wanted to do whatever he could for. And then there were his friends, his coworkers, and the profession his father had been so proud of, and what Steve had worked so hard for. He felt like his decision should've been easy. And he knew that whatever he felt like, he had to go meet James, if only to back off from his promise. 

"Sam!" He called, standing up onto the cold floor of his bedroom and pulling his trousers on, shivering violently. Sam had promised to light the fireplaces this morning, since he was anyway going to work and Steve wasn't, but apparently Steve's friend had either forgotten, or was still sleeping in the bedroom across the hall. Steve's money was on the latter. 

"Sam!" He shouted again, grabbing his shirt and striding to the door, just as it was pushed open, and Sam's groggy face peaked in. He had wrapped his bedsheets around himself as a cloack against the cold. 

"What in the name of the Queen are you shouting for?" Sam mumbled incoherently, pushing the door fully open upon seeing Steve was dressed. "You'll wake the neighbors." 

"Or not, since it is soon nine o'clock, and all respectable people who don't happen to have a day off have gone already." Steve said with a raised eyebrow, grinning as Sam's eyes widened, sleep draining quickly from his face. 

"You are kidding." Sam said. He craned his neck to see the clock on Steve's wall, and groaned, pressing his head against the door frame. "Damnation." 

"You said it. How is this possible? Twice in one week!" Steve asked, opening the doors to his closet and wondering what was the right attire to wear when meeting an Earl. "Mrs. Harris was kind enough to let it slide last time, but I wonder if she'll think you're just lazy now." 

"Don't speak to me," Sam whined. "I'm wallowing, can't you see?" He threw himself onto Steve's bed, rolling around inside his blankets. Then he spotted the card on Steve's table and picked it up, squinting at the small text. 

"What's this?" He asked. "A lady gave you an open invitation to visit?" 

"No." Steve said, frowning at one of his suit jackets. He had remembered it to be a bit nicer. "Actually, that is Earl James Buchanan Barnes' address here in London." He flushed slightly at the name.

"Didn't know you swing that way." Sam said sincerely. "But makes sense." 

"No it doesn't, shut your mouth and help me. What does one wear for a meeting with an Earl?" Steve turned around, letting Sam take a look into his closet. 

Sam grinned. "None of the black ones really suit you. Put on the dark blue one, it fits your eyes. And it's the only tailored suit you have, so it's bound to fit perfectly." 

Steve hesitated. "That's the thing. It's my best suit, I'm not sure if I--" 

"There'll never be a bigger occasion for you to wear it in than meeting an Earl. And if one comes, it'll come because you have accomplished something, in which case you'll have the money to purchase another tailored suit. So put it on and sweep the Earl's feet from under him. Does the saying go like that? Sweep..." But Steve wasn't listening anymore, the thought of being able to render James speechless a bit too delicious to pass. He grabbed the blue suit from the closet and turned to usher Sam out of his room so he could change. James lived on the other side of Thames, so Steve would have to leave soon. 

"Just flutter your lashes at him and he's yours!" Sam announced from behind the closed door, making Steve blush. He doubted his looks were anything compared to James' anyway. 

"I'll be on my way as well, keep your thumbs up Mrs. Harris' back doesn't hurt today!" Sam called, his voice retreating as he went back into his room. 

Steve struggled with his waistcoat, trying to straighten out the shirt so it didn't bag at the hem, and rummaged through the room for his gloves. A brief thought of taking an umbrella, just in case, flashed through his mind, but he ignored it, grabbing the address card and rushing to the street, waving for the first empty carriage he saw. It happened to be an open one, and the driver shook his head when he stopped in front of Steve. 

"Sorry sir, but I think you should get yourself a closed carriage. It's gonna rain any second now." 

"No time," Steve said, a little breathlessly, and jumped into the carriage. He had a certain hate for open carriages, mainly because they were small and he had a hard time trying to fit his legs anywhere. "This is the address, as fast as you can go." 

"Lad, it won't take two hours to get there--"

"It will if it rains, so please, if you could be so kind." Steve said sternly, and the driver shrugged, his leather whip slashing through the air, and the carriage started forward. Steve hoped the driver wasn't the talkative kind, and turned out he wasn't indeed. He did talk, but it was mainly cursing at people crossing the street at the wrong time. 

Soon enough, as the driver had warned, the rain began pouring down from the heavy clouds like someone had held a bucket over the city. It took Steve no more than two minutes to be soaked to the bone, and the driver's curses intensified on the front seat. People all around the carriage opened their umbrellas, and Steve could only wonder how ridiculous he must've looked, sitting atop a too small carriage with his clothes glued to his body. 

"It's there!" The driver shouted over a deafening rumble of thunder, and pointed at the end of a nearly abandoned street, where an enormous mansion rose like from a nightmare, with the lightnings flashing behind it, coloring the walls an electric blue. There were lights in all the downstairs windows, the orange glow of what had to be dozens of candles terribly inviting in the dark. 

"Well is this the closest you can get?" Steve shouted back, blinking water from his eyes. 

The driver nodded. "I need to get the horse somewhere, she doesn't like thunder, we could get hurt! Just follow the pavement, the street is filthy." 

Steve paid for the carriage and jumped down, chilled to the bone and cursing himself for not taking the umbrella. He hurried towards the gates of James' home, praying they were open, or he'd have to wait for someone to come and open them for him. Not that he could get any wetter. 

But the gates opened easily, the driveway leading up to a beautiful circle around an enormous fountain, and finally the front doors. Steve knocked, as loud as he could, unhappy of his current state. He had left home fresh, in a beautifully tailored suit and clean face, and now his clothes were dripping water, his trousers were muddy and his hair flat against his head. He must've looked terrible. 

The door was opened by a woman with flaming red hair and large, dark eyes. She wasn't a maid, the way she looked Steve over all but polite, and when she pulled the door fully open Steve noticed she was wearing trousers as well. Out of politeness he tried not to stare, which seemed to amuse her. 

"James is in the library, second floor and at the end of the corridor. Try not to drip too much on the carpet." She said, and Steve didn't know what else to do but nod. As he entered the house, he noticed a man clad in black, with short, messy blonde hair, perching dangerously atop the second floor railing, observing Steve and the woman with a slight tilt to his head. On his back he had a quiver full of arrows, and he was grasping a bow. His eyes flashed at Steve.

"Clint, let's go." The woman said, and the man disappeared into the shadows. "Go." She nodded at Steve, who noticed he had been staring. He climbed up the stairs as fast as he could, not daring to look back and see if the woman was still there. He felt odd. Why did James have people like her and the man named Clint in his house, instead of normal servants? He couldn't come up with an answer, so he focused on the closed door at the end of the corridor, orange light spreading into the dark from the crack underneath. He felt nervous again, and now it had nothing to do with the way he looked. James was there. He hadn't been a mere dream, but a real human, flesh and bone, and he was really waiting for Steve behind the door. 

Steve took two deep breaths before knocking gently on the thick wood. For a while there was nothing, and then James' soft voice asked him to come in. 

Steve did. 

The library was enormous, the ceiling reaching high into what had to be a tower. Shelves made of dark wood rose along the walls, with a small balcony built in the middle, stairs and ladders giving the opportunity to reach the higher shelves. There had to be thousands of books. On the far wall, windows the length of the wall closed the storm outside, and an enormous fireplace took a space the size of Steve's room, with fire dancing inside. There was a big mahogany table in front of the windows, with a globe on the corner, and James sitting on a leather chair behind it. The fire cast shadows over his breathtakingly beautiful face--it hadn't been a dream--and as he looked up, Steve remembered why he had said yes. 

James' smile died at the sight of Steve, and he shot up from the chair, rounding the table. 

"You look horrible," he said. "Did you walk here?" He took Steve's hand, casually, and walked him to the armchairs placed right in front of the fire. "Sit." 

Steve sat, grateful of the warmth and unable to keep himself from shivering. James looked mildly concerned. "Do you need anything?" He asked. "Look, I would've understood if you had stayed home today. Seriously, the weather--" 

"No, it's-I'm fine." Steve smiled. "I'm a big guy and I'm not made of sugar." 

James huffed out a laugh, retreating to the other chair. "Fair enough, Steven. I'm glad you are here. Have you changed your mind?" 

Steve shook his head, making James smile again. 

"Great! Then we can talk. I-"

"Can I ask you something first?" Steve interrupted quickly. James' eyebrows shot up, but he nodded, leaning back in his chair. Today he was wearing nothing but a pair of black trousers and a white linen shirt, the same stray curl on his forehead, and he looked like an angel, able to destroy the world and bring the entire human race to its knees. And Steve knew he wouldn't mind if that happened. 

"Ask." James said, and Steve noticed he had been staring again. He blushed, quickly turning his face towards the fire. 

"Where are your servants? I mean I only saw a woman with red hair and a man with a bow, and they were not servants. She.. She wore men's clothes." 

James looked a little taken aback by the question, and thought for a moment before answering. 

"She is Natasha Romanoff. My childhood friend. She has a mind of her own. She's also my appointed guard, and she definitely isn't a servant. Clint Barton then comes along, I think he's Natasha's toy or something. She likes him, and honestly, so do I. He's got some sense of humor. And since he too knows how to get things done, I don't see why he can't be here. My only real servant is my cook. I don't need anyone else." James smiled crookedly, and a thought hit Steve's head. James had to be terribly lonely. 

"But they are not why you are here today." James said quickly. "You are here because you agreed to act as my informant inside the police forces. And you are not backing up." It wasn't a question. "Now I have to say, I haven't been told of what this is about yet either. What I'm going to tell you is all I know, and it's startlingly little. But the Queen is suspicious about something in the police force, and she demanded I figure out what it is. And that's our only clue. Her suspicions." James sounded bitter and more than a little annoyed. Steve wondered if he had argued about the necessity of all this with the Queen. He looked like a child who hadn't gotten what he wanted. 

"Truthfully, I don't want to care about this, which is why you are here. I have other things to do than chase after the wind. There is no time limit, so take your time, sniff around and report anything and everything. I need to write a report to the Queen weekly, so I need something. Anything. If a police smokes in the bathroom you tell me and I'll tell her." James looked bored, leaning his chin to his hand. "If you wish, you are free to live here while this lasts. I live closer to the police headquarters than you." 

"How do you know where I live?" Steve asked, surprised, and James grinned. 

"Clint told me. He followed you home last night. Your friend can come live here as well if he wants." 

"Clint? What do you mean followed me? He was in the park last night?" 

"Yes. Of course he was. He was ready to shoot you if you tried something. In my line of work you need to have a man hiding in a tree wherever you go." James smiled. "Does it bother you?" 

"No." Steve lied quickly. 

"Good. I have arranged for your belongings to be brought here at dawn tomorrow, your friend included if he wishes so. Pick any room you want, and it's yours." James stood up and stretched, wincing silently, alerting Steve, but the moment was gone before he could say anything. Instead, he frowned. 

"I didn't say I'd move here." Although he had planned on saying he would. 

"You don't want to?" James asked. 

"I... No. I mean yes I do, but why'd you even ask if it was already arranged? And I don't think Sam will come, he works next door to the apartment." 

"I asked because it was polite." James shrugged. "And if he wishes to stay there, he can. I have no need for him." 

Steve felt uncomfortable. Where was the James from last night? Open and smiling and friendly, looking at Steve like he was the very center of the world? Why was James acting like a cocky prince? Steve was sure something had happened. He heard the waver in James' voice when he spoke, the cold tone cracking with something deeper, and saw the shadows under his eyes. But it wasn't his place to ask, so he remained silent, letting the fire warm him and dry his clothes. 

"You are sure you will do this?" James asked, pacing around the room. 

"Yes." 

"Knowing that if you find something, it'll be your ruin?" 

"If there is something, it's bound to be found someday." 

"Good answer." James laughed. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he did, and his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks. The fire crackled behind his back, and his eyes were sharp. 

"Very well. You are hired, Steven Grant Rogers. Welcome."


	3. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets even more confused. XD

After welcoming Steve to the team, James had returned to his seat behind the mahogany table and gestured for Steve to leave him alone. The shadows on his face had made him look exhausted and older than his years, and he had refused to look at Steve, concentrating on a small pile of letters in front of him. 

"I have work to do," he had said. "Go take a tour of the place, and choose your room. If you're hungry, you can find the cook from the first floor, behind the stairs. I'll be at dinner." After that he had fallen silent, until Steve had slowly gotten up from the now damp armchair and made his way to the door. James didn't look up, and Steve left the room. 

The second floor corridor was long, and made a turn in the opposite end from the library, leading to a shorter hallway where the bedrooms were located. Steve started towards it, trying to take in everything he could as he passed it, from the enormous, rather violent paintings to the delicate patterns of the wallpaper, and the clawed paws of the chairs next to the wall. He wondered if James had purchased all of it, and decorated the house, or if the mansion had belonged to his ancestors, or maybe even someone else. He couldn't quite grasp the amount of money someone had put into decorating the enormous building, and how much money it took to keep it clean and warm, especially if James, Natasha, Clint and the cook were the only people living there. 

Steve reached the turn of the corridor, marked by an ancient vase capable of fitting three men inside of it. It rose higher than Steve, with a grotesque painting of what had to be the devil staring at him. It looked like it was laughing at Steve, and he forced himself to go on, while the storm howled outside the enormous windows, clawing and tearing, trying to get in. Dripping candles stood tall in the fists of tiny, brass hands protruding from the wall, luminating the darkness with golden light, one next to each door. The first bedroom had to belong to James, the door locked and the golden handle faded from use. Steve wasn't sure whether or not Natasha and Clint had rooms there as well, but decided to be safe and walk all the way to the last bedroom, with the candle next to the door blown off. 

Steve grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, and was rewarded with a soft thump and a silent "Ouch". Before he could quite register what was happening, someone shot out from behind the giant bed, framed by heavy satin curtains, and rushed past Steve, to whomever it was he had hit with the door. 

"Oh lord, are you allright?" The someone asked, while Steve decided to slide in through the small crack he had managed to open. 

Behind the door were two men, strangers, that Steve hadn't met before. The other one, wearing a butler's suit, with pale skin and incredibly blue eyes, was sitting on the floor and holding his nose. His hair was completely white despite the fact he couldn't have been more than thirty. The other one, the one who had been doing god knows what behind the bed, was kneeling next to him. He was short, with fluffy brown hair, brown eyes and a strangely cut, carefully trimmed beard. 

"I'm fine, sir." The pale one said, standing up with grace and dusting his trousers. He helped the other one up before turning to Steve, who felt more and more embarrassed by second. 

"I believe we haven't met," the white haired man said with a friendly smile. "I am Jarvis, and this is Anthony Stark." The short man was frowning at Steve. 

"I... No, we haven't. I'm Steve. Rogers. And I'm terribly sorry, I had no idea this was your bedroom, I apologize for intruding." Steve said miserably. 

"Well, you definitely did intrude. What if I had been stark naked--get it?--and you just barged in and hit the nose off my butler?" Tony asked, crossing his arms. 

"My nose is intact, sir," Jarvis said with a small smile. "And do not worry, Mr. Rogers. We do not live here--Mr. Stark thought it to be a wonderful idea to surprise the Earl." 

"Don't lie, Jarvis. You can say I blew up most of my own house." Tony grinned, holding out a hand to Steve. "Well, since Jarvis insists he's fine, I guess we'll forgive you. You can call me Tony." 

Steve took the offered hand. "Steve." 

"Jarvis can show you a free bedroom. Don't tell James we are here. Let's see how long we can go without him noticing us." 

"Sir," Jarvis said, sounding reproachful. "We shouldn't do that, we are guests." 

"And we also bought him this mansion when he wanted to move to London. Calm yourself, Jarvis, and show Steve his room. His clothes are wet." 

Jarvis gave Steve a quick once over. "I believe I have clothes that could fit you. Master's clothes won't since he's short, but if you're fine with mine I can arrange that." 

"What!" Tony gasped. "I am not short! I'm compact! I'm perfect! I fit everywhere! I-"

"Naturally, sir. But your clothes will not fit Mr. Rogers, since he is taller than you." Jarvis said patiently. 

"True." Tony shrugged. "Give him your clothes then, before he catches the flu. Now go on, both of you, I need to spread my stuff around so James can't drive me away." He grabbed Steve's arm and pushed him back into the corridor, with Jarvis coming after, holding a small pile of clothes. 

"I apologize for master Stark." He said calmly when the door was shut in front of them. "He tends to think he owns the world." 

"I've heard his name." Steve said. "He owns half London, doesn't he?" 

"Yes, sir." Jarvis nodded, leading Steve two doors over, to the bedroom opposite James'. "This one is free." He said. 

"How do you know?" Steve asked, afraid of more surprises. And he wasn't too fond of the fact that the vase with the giant devil was right next to his door. 

"It's always free, for some reason. But it's a comfortable room." Jarvis smiled and pushed the door open. "Go on." 

Steve entered the room, and was surprised to see that it was very cozy. The far wall was nothing more than a giant window, with heavy curtains on the sides that he could draw close if he wanted to. The bed was on the left, not quite as big as the one in Tony's room, but bigger than Steve's own. On the opposite wall there was a fireplace, empty and cold at the moment, but he could get some wood into it later. The room wasn't enormous, but it was nice. 

Jarvis held out the clothes. 

"If you wish, you can change and then give me the wet clothes. I can see the suit is tailored, and without proper drying the seams will be ruined." 

"Oh, okay. But are you sure? I mean, I'm not someone who needs to be served, I'm not rich, or noble. I'm a police officer." Steve said quickly. 

"And as far as ranks go, police officers are higher than butlers." Jarvis said kindly. "I am most happy to be of service, and if you refuse my help I'll feel quite useless. Trust me when I say it's not a bother." 

"Fine then," Steve nodded. "Could you wait outside?" 

"Certainly." Jarvis nodded and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

While he stripped off his damp clothes, Steve let his thoughts wander. What was going on in the house? First the woman and the archer, and now these two. Where did they come from? Why did the butler's eyes shine like a pair of blue lamps in the dark corridor, and why was his hair completely white? And what was Anthony Stark doing in the Earl's mansion? Steve was unable to decipher what it was exactly that felt odd to him about these two, so he let it be. They seemed friendly enough, and it wasn't Steve's job to worry about what happened in James' house. He pulled the butler's shirt on, and it fit nearly perfectly, maybe a bit tightly since the butler seemed to be a little leaner and not quite so muscular. But it was better than nothing, and Steve opened the door to give Jarvis the wet clothes. 

"Do they fit?" Jarvis asked, taking the wet bundle from him. 

"Very well, thank you so much. My own clothes won't arrive until morning." Steve smiled, stepping out of the room and closing the door. Thunder exploded right above them, and the flames of the candles fluttered, making the shadows look like reaching hands. Steve decided he didn't like thunder, not in a place like that. 

Jarvis didn't seem affected, smiling softly. "Might be it'll take a little longer if this storm goes on, sir." 

"Oh, I hadn't--" Steve started, when Tony's loud voice interrupted him. 

"Jarvis! I need you! I'm stuck!" He shouted, and Jarvis sighed, nodding at Steve. 

"I'm afraid I must go. We shall attend dinner, if I'm able to convince Mr. Stark to inform the Earl of his presence." He bowed shortly before turning to walk away, his black jacket melting into the shadows, until his white hair was like a flame in the dark. 

After the door to Tony's bedroom closed behind the butler, the only sound remaining was the rain rushing outside, tapping the windowsills like long nails, impatiently waiting. Steve didn't want to go into his bedroom and stare into the empty fireplace, so he decided to take a tour around the mansion. It'd be his home for a while now, so why not. He just hoped he wouldn't run into Natasha or Clint. 

He began from the first floor, climbing down the main stairs to the hall. The floor was like an enormous chessboard, black and white squares taking turns. A chandelier the size of a fountain, dripping carefully molded crystals, hung from the high ceiling, each of the candles lit and reflecting from the polished floor. On both sides of the double doors was a window, covered with heavy curtains. The main staircase was covered with a red carpet, so thick you couldn't hear if someone was approaching, their footsteps swallowed. 

Steve crossed the hall to the first door on the right and peaked in, delighted to see a music room, filled with all kinds of instruments, a giant piano ruling the space. He didn't play anything, but he enjoyed listening. He wondered if James could play. 

"If you want, I can play something for you." An amused voice said somewhere to Steve's right, and he jolted, hitting his head to the door frame. He turned, finding himself face to face with the archer, Clint, perching on a statue. The man seemed to enjoy high places. And perching. He stared at Steve, expectantly. 

"What?" Steve asked, blinking. 

"I said that if you want, I can play something for you." Clint repeated. "You looked like you'd want that." 

"It's--it's fine. Don't worry. Maybe later. Could you not just appear on me like this? My heart can't take it." Steve asked, and Clint grinned, jumping down from the statue and landing like a cat in front of Steve. 

"Fine. I'd introduce myself, but I bet you know who I am already. And naturally I know everything about you." 

"Everything?" Steve frowned. 

"Oops." Clint laughed. "Forget I said anything. Do you want food? I'd love food. I'm hungry. I'm always hungry." He grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him towards the door hidden under the staircase. Steve remembered James saying it was the kitchen, but at the moment it felt like Clint was dragging him to a dungeon. Steve wondered why the people in the mansion were so handsy with strangers.

"Loki does the best food, it's like magic. He's a bit grumpy, he did something stupid in the past so his parents made him serve James for a while, to learn something. If you insult his food he'll stand above your bed with a knife the following night. Although there's nothing to insult, I've never eaten anything so good." Clint grinned, knocking on the kitchen door. Steve felt like he was about to step into the ninth circle of hell, despite the fact Clint looked completely carefree. 

"I know it's you, Bird brain," an annoyed voice said from inside. "And don't bother to knock for the guest, he'll learn soon enough you never do." 

"Don't believe him," Clint said, pushing the door open and leading Steve into the kitchen. "I always announce myself." He winked. 

The kitchen was gigantic, like every other room in the building, and stocked with enough food for an army. It was lit beautifully, with windows and doors giving to the herb garden outside, hidden between the walls of the mansion. Double doors on the far wall lead to the dining room, and Steve saw numerous pots and kettles on the counters, each filled with food. The smell was delicious. 

Behind one of the counters stood a tall, slim man, his long, raven black hair falling to his shoulders. He was dressed in a white linen shirt and an emerald green apron, and his eyes were the green of a forest during the very beginning of spring. He looked vaguely irritated, and Steve thought he saw a green sparkle at the tips of his fingers. 

"What do you want now, Barton?" The cook asked. "Know that I won't do anything special, you are fully capable of waiting for dinner." 

"Aww come on. It's not for me, it's for Steven. Here," Clint pushed Steve towards Loki, and Steve felt like running as fast as he could. But Loki just looked at him curiously. 

"A new guy?" He asked, and the irritation vanished. "Steven?" 

"Yes." Steve nodded quickly, something snapping at the back of his neck. 

"Hm. I'm Loki. Are you hungry, or is Clint just being an imbecil like usually?" Loki asked, and this time Steve was sure there were tiny green flames dancing at the end of each of his fingers. He swallowed. 

"I am happy to wait for dinner, I don't want to bother--" he started, but was interrupted when all the candles were blown out with strong wind, and the thunder exploded, the sound leaving Steve deaf for a few seconds, the insides of his head feeling like mush. The windows rattled and the wind howled like a wounded animal in the corners of the room. He blinked in the darkness, and Loki sighed, holding a small ball of emerald green fire on his palm. 

"It's not a bother. The real bother just arrived."


End file.
